


Unbreakable Bond

by Zeds_Dead_Reader (Zeds_Dead)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Death, Explicit Language, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Lonely Levi, Loss, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, One Shot, Possessive Behavior, Reader-Insert, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeds_Dead/pseuds/Zeds_Dead_Reader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't leave me. Everyone else does, but not you. Not again. I won't let you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbreakable Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted under my other deleted account, I'm moving everything over here now, taking my works with me.
> 
> Please note - these are 100% mine from my other account, if you have read this work before, it would have been on my other username. I have not stolen this. 
> 
> Apologies for any weird symbols in the text, my phone is not the kindest for converting from one format to another...

The imposing manor house came into view as the old style black car drove you slowly up the gravelled drive, tyres crunching on the stoney surface. The impressive grounds meant that no other building could be seen from here, totally isolated and closed off from the rest of human kind. It was owned by your paternal grandmother, a stern woman who believed children should be seen and not heard. Not that you were a child anymore, you were twenty years old, but she still had no time for you. Coming from a family of wealth and social standing, it wouldn't have been proper for you to live with anyone but a relative, so now here you were, somewhere you would rather be miles from. But after what happened, you had no choice. 

You had just lost your parents in a car crash, one you survived relatively unscathed, only the large gash on your head telling the sad story. Being that you were still in the midst of intense studying, you had no money of your own, any inheritance tied up in trusts and bonds, so there was no question when it came to your fate. This would be your home for now, but you intended to make it a short lived arrangement, planning on finding a job just as soon as you could to escape the stifling atmosphere of the manor.

As the vehicle pulled up you couldn't remember even getting here, mind still troubled and spinning with grief, as the expressionless driver went to pull your trunk from the back. Climbing out, you gazed up at the bricks and mortar, and saw the round attic window that you used to love staring from as a child, the expansive acres being well visible from the high vantage point. It was also a place that had made you feel safe, like there was a benevolent feeling to the whole loft space. You spent hours up there, chatting to your imaginary friend whose name you couldn't recall, and finding all sorts of treasures in the boxes and old wardrobes.

Walking in, your grandmother stared through you, her piercing blue eyes not even registering your presence. Nothing new there, but you couldn't help but think how she might actually like you if she took the time to converse, as you were an intelligent young woman. Shelving the annoyance, you trailed up the grand staircase to the room that was always yours when you visited. It hadn't been changed really. A large four poster bed dominated the space with thick, old fashioned sheets, and dark mahogany furniture lined the walls. Cream and gold curtains hung from ceiling to floor, pulled back in sashes of matching fabric to let the light in. Being a dull, rainy day, not much filtered through, and you cast your eyes around to see your old teddy bears sat on top of the blanket box, still in the order you always left them in when you were little.

Trailing a finger over the tattered toy rabbit, you smiled weakly at the familiar feel of it's ragged fur, and before you realised what you were doing, you hugged it tight, flopping onto the bed in a fit of tears and despair over the loss of your parents. It had been your father who bought you the cuddly toy, and it was one of your favourites. He used to dance it around like it was real, making it speak to you and pretend that it would steal your food at the dinner table. All the thoughts came spiralling down as your grief stricken heart broke once more, and you wondered if this feeling would ever get better.

You had fallen asleep at some stage, the turmoil in your mind reaching breaking point, and when you awoke it was pitch black outside. The face of your watch told you it was nearly eight in the evening, and you supposed you should eat. Hunger didn't invade your stomach, but self preservation kicked in as you quietly descended the carpeted stairs, rabbit still in your hand, and made your way across marble floors to the kitchen area. No one was around, dinner having finished ages ago, so you rustled around for some food, selecting a nice looking bread roll and filling it with cold meat and salad. It tasted like cardboard, totally unsatisfying, but you guessed that the love of food would take a while to regain, giving into the dark realisation that this was purely nourishment right now.

Back upstairs, you passed the smaller staircase that would take you all the way to the attic entrance, and decided to take a trip down memory lane. Reaching the sturdy ladder, you climbed up, taking care not to catch your toy on any stray splinters or nails, and swung the hatch open. It was musty up here, as always, and with the flick of a light you illuminated your old playground. The same array of boxes were stacked to the sides, the forgotten furniture still standing dormant and unloved, and the old moth eaten rug that you used to sit on was still on the wooden floor. It made you feel slightly lifted as you walked around, touching the well known items like they were old friends, breathing in the scent.

As you turned to leave, a noise reached your ears in the otherwise silent house, one you had heard many a time in the past. Two notes were played, just the two, but you instantly recognised it as the music box you used up here, usually when you were trying to drown out the sound of your grandparents fighting. It had been a regular occurrence when your grandfather was still alive, but you never knew what they rowed about, just that it was fierce. Searching, you peeked round the back of a chest of drawers and saw the open lid of the box, small pink ballerina slightly moving still as she had made a tiny turn with the two chiming sounds. Maybe you had caused it to jar with a footstep on the wrong floorboard? Regardless of how, you weren't afraid, as many would be in a dusty old attic at night. This place held no malice.

~~~~~~

Sleep hadn't made you any less tired, and as you sat up in bed you were greeted by the same dreary weather from yesterday, and looked around for your luggage. Odd. It wasn't in here, and slowly you looked down to see your pyjamas were in place on your body. You had no recollection of putting them on, but you must have. Springing up, you opened a drawer and found some of your clothes. Maybe you did that too? Bereavement could do funny things to a person's mental state, and you had admittedly been in something of a haze. Perhaps one of the staff had unpacked for you instead, relieving the burden.

Washed and dressed, you poked your head round the dining room door to see your only living relative sitting at the grand table alone, sipping at tea and eating a boiled egg without any expression. Deciding to avoid her, you went to the kitchen. Some staff were in here, but you weren't addressed or stopped as they were too busy, so you started to make some toast, which yet again was tasteless despite the thick layer of butter you applied. The only thing you found that had any hint of flavour was tea, so you made another mug of the dark liquid and took it upstairs, intending on trying to get some studying done. Hand on the door, you were stopped in your tracks by the sound of music, a tinkling tune drifting down from the attic. Purely curious, you took the familiar journey back upstairs, carefully bringing your drink with you.

This time, you closed the hatch and listened to the song, soothing melody of Greensleeves lifting you as you took a gulp from the cup and you closed your eyes, content in the slightly strange moment. A bang made you snap your lids open, eyes scouring for the source but all you saw was the box which was now on the floor by your feet, tiny lady spinning on the spring as she revolved to the ever decreasing pace of the chimes. Staring down, you still didn't feel any fear, just wonder, and you bent to wind it up again when it stopped, mug placed gently down as you sat on your knees in front of the wooden item. Whether it was insanity or grief, you didn't care, and you surrendered to what might be deemed as creepy by anyone with full control over their emotions.

So caught up in the sound, you once more shut your eyes to let the music envelop your body. You became aware of a presence and glanced up to see a figure sitting cross legged on the floor the other side of the box, your tea now in their pale hand. Now you realised you had most likely gone mad, succumbing to whatever companion your psychotic mind had dreamt up to keep you company. He looked a few years older than you, much more serious, and had the lightest skin you had ever seen. It was offset beautifully by his raven hair that hung round his delicate features, and the way he sipped at the hot liquid was strange, an arrangement of fingers around the rim. The most striking thing was his eyes. They were grey, almost silver and lined with dark circles, staring at you in a way that felt like he could read your thoughts.

No longer caring for your evidently dwindling lucidity, you decided to speak, test if the obviously fictitious man could reply. "Hi." Your attempt at conversation was met by a tut and a gaze that could kill from twenty paces. The man took another mouthful of tea, and confirmed your theory that he was able to talk. 

"That's it? That's all you've fucking got to say to me?" With a look of surprise but also confusion, you frowned, wondering who this was meant to be. Taking the bait, you continued. 

"What was I supposed to say?" A shake of the head let you know that was the wrong response, and you once more heard the strangely seductive voice.

"You can't leave me. Everyone else does, but not you. Not again. I won't let you." Totally baffled, you ignored the sinister connotations, and leant forward, captivated by the monotone and seemingly emotionless way he delivered his words, betrayed only by the flash in his eyes. 

"Who are you?" Your question made him wince slightly, clearly hurt that you had no idea who your mental creation was. 

"All those years, (F/N)? The times we played, laughed, ran around this godforsaken estate? You've fucking forgotten?"

All of a sudden you came to a coherent thought, and realised who this was. It was your imaginary friend, but he had aged with you, always being the older of the pair. Grasping with everything you had, you couldn't quite drag his name from the depths of your memory banks and smiled, fully immersed in the madness. "You look different all grown up." His eyes ran up and down, scrutinising your form, and he replied with a smirk and a raised brow. 

"So do you." Giggling, you had a faint feeling of the knowledge that you were now pretty much certifiable, but you didn't care. It was like coming home, and you gazed over.

"I can't remember your name." It came out in a whisper, not wanting to offend him more, but he waved the cup at you instead of berating you. 

"I know. It's been a while." Waiting impatiently, you stared at him as a small smile pulled at his lips. He'd always been sullen, it was who your brain had apparently wanted to play with though, but you weren't sure why. You enjoyed being the light hearted one who had to try and cheer him up and make him laugh, something that was almost impossible. Finally, he spoke up. "Levi. My name's Levi. And just so you know, I'm not the product of your imagination."

Why would your mental breakdown be telling you this? There was no reason to shatter the illusion that you were sitting talking to your pretend childhood friend, so what was going on? With a scowl, you demanded answers. 

"What do you mean? Of course you are. I'm going crazy, I get it, but can you blame me?" Another shake of his head combined with the smile allowed a slight amount of fear to grip your heart, as the look on his face was full of dark mischief. 

"You think you made me up? That I was just here for your fucking amusement? Oh dear, (F/N). Maybe you are going crazy." The sarcasm dripped from his words and sent you reeling, wondering why this was happening. Couldn't your scarred mind just give you a nice reunion?

"So what then, Levi? You're some weirdo who lives in the attic, waiting years for me to come back? Fuck off." You crossed your arms, and watched as he leant over, up on his knees, face centimetres from yours, scent of tea on his breath. 

"Not that either, (F/N). But I am real. Want me to prove it?" Heart racing, you sat still, unsure what to do, and let him take your lips in his cold, soft kiss, the sensation sending shocks through your highly strung being. He sat back, still staring, head tilted as if you were some sort of interesting creature. "So, was that real enough for you?" You supposed it was possible to feel physical manifestations of your macabre creation, but the disquiet grew within you.

"What's going on?" It came out in a tiny voice, one you weren't aware you could make and a hand grabbed yours, dragging you over to where something sat covered in a sheet. Pulling it down, Levi looked in the reflection, still holding on to you, watching as your mouth dropped open at what you saw. He'd been through this, that's why he kept the mirror covered, but it was the best way to hit home what was actually occurring here.

Staring, you saw how the head wound you had sustained was not just a nasty cut, it had practically removed half of your scalp, brain visible through matted, bloody hair. The colour of your skin was sickly and drained of life, and the marks up and down your arms suggested that the impact had caused more injuries. But that couldn't be true. It must all be the insanity kicking in. Glancing over, you saw the reflection of the man who gripped your hand tightly, shocked at what you could see. His wrists were destroyed, cut into threads, mangled tendons sticking through.

As you turned, the person next to you had no such injury, only the one in the mirror did. Passing your eyes between the two images, you gaped in disbelief and he thankfully replaced the sheet over the shiny surface. "Do you see me like that?" Pointing at the hidden item, you hoped that's not what you looked like, and he began to explain some kind of twisted truth. 

"No. I think you project how you see yourself." It was all too much to take, and you slowly sat on a wooden box, helped by strong arms, a cool body pressed next to you. 

"Tell me everything, Levi. Before I pass out."  
With a steady voice, he elaborated, letting you into the demented truth. 

"Your family only bought this place thirty years ago. Before that, mine owned it. They locked me up here, every fucking day, sometimes bringing me food and water, but not always. Apparently I was a shame on the family name, too small to be considered a true Ackerman." His distaste was clear, along with his pain. "One day I couldn't handle it anymore, so I took matters into my own hands. Or, more correctly, not matters but a broken bottle." Flinching, you remembered the mangled flesh and looked up into dull grey eyes. "A few people came up after your grandparents took ownership, but no one stayed. I guess my presence disturbed them. Then one day, you showed up."

Levi sighed and answered your unspoken query. "And this is why I think you are visible as you see fit. I made myself the same age as you so I could have a friend. A companion in my otherwise miserable existence. I died at the age you see me now. I suppose children are more likely to accept the strange, and in your case, that was in the form of an imaginary playmate." Mind spinning, you tried to think of words, but were unable to. He was aware of how this must sound, and he'd had long enough to deal with this himself, form a hypothesis. So he took the lead again. "I couldn't touch you when you were alive. But I can now. Those people downstairs? They can't see you or feel you, but you can move things and make noises. It fucks with them sometimes, it's actually quite amusing." He let out a small laugh, and you asked him one of the millions of questions that were in your head. 

"But my trunk? I was driven here?" With a sympathetic smile that was only partly sincere, he yet again made reality even more tenuous than it already was. 

"That wasn't your trunk. It was your coffin. You just followed it." Struggling to stay conscious, you shook your head.

"Then why is my stuff in that room?" Another response was given, and the rest of the grim story. 

"You'd been staying here on holiday, and went for a drive with your parents. I watched as you left, like all the others. But this time you came back. Back to me." A grip on your hand let you know he was ridiculously gleeful at the fact, and he stood, making you join him. "Come on, I'll show you something."

The journey through the house was bizarre, and you watched with horror as one of the servants walked through you. Literally right through you. Feeling sick, you continued until you were outside, the rain having no effect on your cold body. You saw a crowd of people, all in black, and you were brought up to speed by a slightly over zealous Levi. "Welcome to your funeral, (F/N)."

Getting closer, you saw the local priest performing the ceremony next to where your grandfather was interred, all eyes on the casket that was protected by a plain marquee, your own face staring up at you, a traditional and ridiculously frilly hat on your head to mask the extent of your wounds. You gazed at the assembled bodies, and gasped as two came into view at the front. Your parents. "Yea, they didn't die. Just you." He was enjoying this, and you wondered how lonely he must have been all this time with only his own company. Dead or not, surely it would begin to unhinge even the most stable of minds.

"Why am I here? Is it because I'm being buried in the grounds? It's not like I died here?" Levi shrugged, looking distinctly bored. 

"Not sure. I don't even know where I'm buried. For all I know they just threw me out for the fucking guard dogs to eat." Time had not dampened his bitterness, and he retained a deep hatred that ate away at him daily, but it was alleviated somewhat now that he had a friend again. He had you. "All I know, (F/N), is that I can't leave the grounds. This is the only place I've ever seen, so it stands to reason I am stuck here for all fucking eternity. You, however, seem to have chosen it."

The time you spent in the attic had been some of your happiest moments, as your real life was always full of etiquette lessons, study and high end dinners with pompous pricks. Perhaps this was indeed your happy place, your escape from it all, and you watched as your earthly body was lowered into the ground, the pain on your parent's faces making you want to call out and hug them one last time. But apparently, that wasn't possible.  
Feeling a tug, you were led away by your hand, unable to do anything more than follow Levi, shock well and truly settling into your psyche that materialised as dull acceptance. The sound of a curious voice cut into your dark thoughts. 

"So we've found out that we can hold hands and kiss, at least. I wonder what else we can get up to. After all, we have each other forever, (F/N), and I'm not fucking letting you go again."


End file.
